Rating: Hard R
Author's Note: Yes, I know what happens in the end. This is why this was so much fun for me to write.
Jack was pretty sure that the EVE injections were not supposed to take this much out of him, but he was finding that sometimes, after killing splicers by the dozens, he needed a break. What he needed was some much needed sleep, but unless he wanted to fall asleep and wake up to find himself strapped to a table and about to be operated on by Steinman, he needed to find someplace where it was safe. The best he could do for the moment was find a nice comfortable corner with no doors nearby, a few crates to serve as cover, and a nice supply of machine gun rounds.
He knew there was no hope of catching any sleep, but hopefully enough rest and staying off his feet would be enough to lift up his spirits. Plus there was a bottle of merlot left over from his raid in one of the offices near the medical center. Jack was about to pop the cork on it when the radio crackled, making him curse. He didn’t need this right now, and he especially didn’t need Atlas talking his ear off. The radio crackled once, twice, and then fell silent. He breathed a sigh of relief as he finally got the cork off, and taking a swig of wine, he set it to the side for later. There was a moment of silence where he listened for any sounds throughout the room, and then he let the machine gun lay on his lap, his finger around the trigger just in case.
Flashes of his mother and father combined with flashes of his old house went through his mind, like snapshots falling from his hand onto the ground, with only bits and images seen. Yellowish paper with frayed, curling edges lay on the ground. Then a flash and he was back on the plane, a note clenched in his fingers. It was out of focus, but he could see the words on it, slightly blurred around the edges of his mind. From mom and da--
“Hey, are you there? Hey, boyo, would you kindly wake the fuck up?” The radio crackled, and Jack opened his eyes in confusion, his hand ready on the trigger, his mouth already forming curse words as he heard Atlas over the radio. Shit, after all that, and he had fallen asleep for a good twenty minutes, at the most.
But he was awake now, his body still heavy with sleep, and he used his free hand to rub his eyes, clearing the sleep from them, just as the radio crackled again.
“You okay? Could hear you snoring throughout all of Rapture, my friend,” Jack winced and started to stretch, getting ready to get up and complete his mission. He set the machine gun to the side and was about to use the crates to help him get up when the radio crackled again.
“Stay where you are for a second, would you? There’s something I need to do first,” Atlas said, and Jack could hear the hum of a security camera in the distance. He stuck it in the back of his mind that he would have to take care of that. “Where are you? Hiding behind something I hope?” Jack wasn’t sure what to make of it. It wasn’t the words that were strange, but more the tone of voice.
The radio was shit, but Atlas’ voice had changed, making it huskier, lower. “Still tired? Don’t be resting too long, there’s still a lot of work to do.” Yes, Jack could definitely tell there was something different about his voice. “I’d like you to do something for me,” Atlas said, and that was when Jack finally knew something was about to happen.
“Would you kindly undo your pants for me?” Jack’s eyes widened as the radio crackled out the words, and he knew he must still be drunk from the merlot of before, because there was no way he was actually undoing the belt at his waist, fingers moving down to zip and pulling down slowly. He could feel himself already straining against his pants, feel himself already to harden, and he hadn’t even done a thing yet.
He heard Atlas chuckle over the radio, and he couldn’t help the groan escaping him as he palmed the front of his pants. “I’m guessing I don’t have to ask you to touch yourself then, do I, boyo?” The voice over the radio was low, and Jack wished that the reception was clearer, so that he could tell if Atlas was doing anything, if perhaps he was in a corner as well, doing exactly what he was—
He needed to stop thinking like that, as Jack moaned low in his throat and began to stroke himself harder. He felt his body begin to heat up, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he bucked up into his hand. He could hear Atlas whispering through the radio, talking about what he would do when they finally met, how he was going to fuck him raw as soon as they saw the demise of Andrew Ryan.
“Fuck,” Jack whispered reverently, and felt a bit of pride as he heard Atlas say the exact same thing over the radio.
“You going to come for me? I can hear you, I can hear how close you are,” That swarmy Irish accent was getting to him, and he could only whisper yes as he bucked up into his hand. “Well then, would you kindly come for me?” he heard him say, and it was all he could do to not cry out as he came hard over his hand. Panting, he realized that his finger was still on the trigger of the machine gun, and wiping his hand off on a spare cloth; he grabbed the bottle of merlot and drained it of the rest of its contents. Setting the gun to the side, he zipped himself back up and prepared to start moving again, when the radio crackled to life once more. He waited a minute, wondering when a voice was going to come through, and as he picked up the gun, thinking that no one was going to talk to him at this point, he finally heard Atlas speak.
“Would you kindly forget this ever happened?”